


Static

by Laylah



Category: Resonance of Fate
Genre: Collars, Community: kink_bingo, Dystopia, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's not just jewelry," Vashyron says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

The static on the TV is bad tonight. Zephyr keeps switching from one channel to the other to see if anything comes in, but no luck. Connections must be on the fritz in one of the hexes nearby, or one of the Cardinals upstairs is trying out some new project, or...well. It's Basel. Nothing works right more than half the time anyway.

Zephyr sits back on the couch, glaring halfheartedly at the TV. The reception will clear right up as soon as he doesn't care anymore, because that's how stuff _works_ around here, but that's no comfort. He sighs.

Vashyron, of course, picks now to come home, swaggering in like he's got somebody to impress and dropping onto the other end of the couch heavily enough to kick up dust. The TV spits static one more time and then smooths out, giving them a broadcast of a woman in a red dress singing a slow, bluesy ballad. Zephyr rolls his eyes.

"You look fancy," Vashyron says. "What, did Leanne take you shopping?"

"Look, just because you can't buy a pair of pants without a girl to hold your hand doesn't mean everyone's that hopeless," Zephyr says. He shifts position and then wishes he hadn't, because he's sure it makes him look uncomfortable. And he's not.

Vashyron smirks. "So you picked that out yourself, huh?"

"Whatever you want to say," Zephyr says, "just say it already."

"How about this part?" Vashyron asks, gesturing to his own neck.

Zephyr swallows, and he can feel the pressure of the collar against his throat. "Jewelry," he says. "You might have heard of it."

"That's not just jewelry," Vashyron says. "You ever learn about people keeping pets?"

"Maybe," Zephyr says.

Vashyron nods. "Tame animals," he says. "People used to keep them around just," he shrugs, "to enjoy their company."

Zephyr tries to picture anybody enjoying the company of one of those dogs that run loose all over Seven. There's no way. He's seen what a pack of those things could do to a kid who wasn't careful enough. "And?" he says.

"When you kept a pet," Vashyron says, "you'd put a collar on it to show it belonged to you."

There's the static again, only this time it's in Zephyr's head instead of on the TV. "Well, I put it on myself," he says, "so --"

Vashyron reaches for him and Zephyr's just a little too slow on the uptake -- like always -- and Vashyron's fingers catch the collar, slide under it, warm against Zephyr's skin and just enough pressure to make him a little uncomfortable. "They weren't just for show, either," Vashyron says. "Get anybody by the throat and it's pretty easy to put them where you want them."

He pulls and Zephyr just _goes_, barely thinking about it -- about anything. His head's full of static and his face feels hot and his pants are too tight, and Vashyron just drags him down across the couch so his face is in Vashyron's lap and he's breathing the raw scent of leather and gun oil. Zephyr holds still there, tense, and after a second Vashyron's other hand settles on his back, stroking really slowly.

"You're going to tell me if I push you too far," Vashyron says, really casual, not letting go.

Zephyr nods once. Moving tugs on the collar. His cock twitches in his jeans.

Vashyron keeps one hand on Zephyr's collar and starts to unbutton with the other. He's got big hands, more clever than they look. Kind of like the rest of him that way. He gets his pants open -- that makes the smell of leather a lot stronger, the inside edges raw -- and pulls his cock out. The static in Zephyr's head gets a little louder. From this close up he can't really look at anything else, as Vashyron strokes himself hard, but if he tries to pull away Vashyron might let go of his collar, and then he'd be pissed.

As Vashyron gets harder, some of those strokes make his knuckles brush Zephyr's lip, and Zephyr wants to -- lick him, bite him, something. He settles for growling, just a little, in the back of his throat. He's not even sure Vashyron will hear him, over the sound of the TV.

Vashyron laughs, though, and rubs his cock against Zephyr's face deliberately. "Too much teasing?" he says. "Here, go on."

Zephyr opens his mouth and Vashyron fills it up, pulling him down. The collar's a steady pressure at the back of his neck, and when he tries to pull back a little Vashyron doesn't move with him, so he can't go very far -- so he can't sit up far enough to get all the way off Vashyron's cock. He squeezes his eyes shut as if that'll drown out the static in his head, and he has both hands on the buckle of his belt holster before he's had time to think about how that looks.

If Vashyron gives him any shit about this he _will_ bite, he swears he will -- just one smartass comment about how into this he is -- but Vashyron doesn't say anything at all, for once, just shuts up and holds him there. Zephyr pushes his jeans down far enough that he can get a hand on his own cock and lets himself really pay attention to Vashyron's, stuffed in his mouth, hard on his tongue. With Vashyron's fingers hooked in his collar he's not going anywhere, and as long as he doesn't have to admit it outside his head that makes it better. Tame animals, Vashyron said, and the static in Zephyr's head is like getting in a fight, like needing to get off.

Just an animal. Zephyr moans, down in his throat, because he can't help himself, and Vashyron's cock pulses in his mouth. So they're both close. Zephyr jerks himself off faster, so he won't be still panting for it when Vashyron comes. He's tensing up, hips rocking into the couch, and he tries to cup his other hand around the head of his cock so he won't make too much of a mess -- and then Vashyron tugs down on his collar, makes him take the whole length down his throat, and instead of choking he's coming, everything hissing to white noise.

Vashyron groans and bucks up into his mouth, screwing his throat, and it only takes a few strokes like that before he's going off, too, bitter and hot on Zephyr's tongue.

He lets go after he's done, and Zephyr sits up. He's got a handful of his own come and a mouthful of Vashyron's, so he wants to get to the bathroom pretty quick. Still, as he's getting up, Vashyron says, "Hey."

Zephyr stops, holding up his jeans with his clean hand, and arches an eyebrow. What?

"Just a thought to take with you," Vashyron says. "People kept pets because they liked them."

Right. Zephyr ducks into the bathroom and spits into the sink. He turns the water on and rinses his hands, gives it a minute to see if it'll run clear. No dice -- looks like tonight it's going to stay rusty. After a bit he leans down to get a mouthful anyway, swishes and spits again.

When he stands up, he's a little dizzy just from the motion, but the noise in his head has calmed down. He looks at himself in the cracked mirror, tilts his head back some so he can get a better look at the collar. It doesn't really look like much, does it? But he thinks he'll keep wearing it for a while anyway.


End file.
